Poetry / December 2017 (Issue 38)

Island of Darkness

by Chan Lai-kuen

Entangled under deep water, sturgeons
exchange black glances
I sing mute songs
in the form of jellied ink

The night is an automatic drive-in car wash
that tightly squeezes you with its velvet tentacles
A giant invisible under X-ray
whom you can only guess along as you touch

Our land cuts itself off the continent and drifts off as a ship
It is a turtle deformed by overgrowth
with layers and layers of buildings
crammed with blinding lights
In the darkness of the cabin I write poetry with darkness
I bring not sun or moon
All is quiet except
when the scream from a nightmare cuts us through

Black is light
I'm not going to leave a hopeful ending in this poem
After darkness
What comes after darkness?
when darkness turns its face towards us
it's still a head of black hair

Chinese version 2013
English version Oct 2017
Website © Cha: An Asian Literary Journal 2007-2018
ISSN 1999-5032
All poems, stories and other contributions copyright to their respective authors unless otherwise noted.